She calls it shallow—
    this thing she sees in me.

This pull toward her beauty,
     this hunger for every perfect line,
     every flawless inch.

But what if it isn’t?

What if it’s just the surface
         of something deeper?

A doorway, an invitation,
  the way art begins with the eyes

  but never ends there?

I’m not just drawn to her beauty—

I’m drawn through it.

Into the mind behind her eyes,
     the strength beneath her skin,
     the life lived

     inside every glance she gives.

Attraction isn’t shallow
   if it’s only the beginning,
   if it leads somewhere

   deeper,
   stronger,

   to places words can’t easily reach.

It's only shallow on the way to the deep end.

The way a river starts with a trickle
    but ends in the sea.

So yes: She’s beautiful.

Undeniably.

Unapologetically.

But that's just the beginning,
    if that's what you think I see…

    you aren't looking close enough.

Her beauty is not the destination—
    It's the doorway,
    The first step—

    And everything beyond it: infinite.

If noticing _that_
   makes me shallow,
   then let me drown—

   because I've never known a depth like hers.